


Here There Be Dragons

by Mystical_Magician



Series: Dragon Soul [2]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Dragons, Infinity Gems, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Romantic Confusion, Sexual Confusion, Shapeshifting, Trauma, and Stephen is oblivious, but poor Tony doesn't realize, not exactly interspecies romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2019-10-27 22:46:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17775650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystical_Magician/pseuds/Mystical_Magician
Summary: What if Stephen had attempted a shapeshifting spell after all? Bruce Banner crashes into the New York Sanctum and Tony Stark meets a dragon called Strange as the end of the world approaches.After the universe is saved, Tony becomes confused and very alarmed by what he doesn't want to admit is a midlife romantic crisis. Stephen forgets that Tony has no idea that he's actually human.





	1. Second Skin

**Author's Note:**

> You should probably read at least the first chapter of Wings and Fire, or this fic might be a little confusing.

_“O to be a dragon, a symbol of the power of Heaven - of silkworm size or immense; at times invisible.”  
_ **_-Marianne Moore, O To Be A Dragon_ **

 

 

 

Part of Stephen knows better. Of course he does. Even if he had only ever remembered being Stephen Strange, he would know that such spells were dangerous and irresponsible for a novice to attempt unsupervised. But he remembers more than just Stephen, knows better the dangers, and still is tempted.

 

Curiosity has always been his double-edged blade.

 

It's reckless even for him. But it seems Dormammu and the events surrounding him have affected Stephen more deeply than he would like to admit. He has a hard time caring about consequences, or maybe he just has a hard time believing that there will be any. After all, his own death had been reversed thousands of times. These days he feels unmoored. Untethered. If being human isn't working, then maybe being a dragon again will be better. 

 

Or maybe it will be exactly like his memories. He'll stop caring, stop feeling, and just sleep. Right now, such an existence doesn't seem so bad after all.

 

_The grass is always greener_ , he thinks with an ironic twist of his lips, and then channels dimensional energy into arcane configurations. 

 

It's not a good idea.

 

Stephen does it anyway.

 

He's braced for pain, but, surprisingly, it isn't painful. Just strange and uncomfortable as his spine elongates and he drops down onto all fours, while a wave of dark blue scales flows over his body. His belly grows warm with a more literal fire, and his sight grows sharper as his perspective changes. His sense of hearing is so much stronger now. Stephen sinks to the ground to ride out the disorientation, wincing as his tail sweeps out and knocks over one of the chairs. It reminds him that he has talons, and Wong is going to be very upset if he's gouged holes in the floor of the library.

 

Another surprise. It seems he's succeeded in changing fully on his first try.

 

He cranes his head to inspect his new body, wishing he'd thought to do this near a mirror. It doesn't feel quite as natural as he'd half-assumed. But it's no wonder, really. He's smaller than he remembers being, before, although still much larger than his human form. Lengthwise, anyway. He thinks his body shape is longer, more serpent-like than his first. His horns feel longer, and he seems to have whiskers as well. If he had appeared to be more of a Western dragon before, now he seems to have Eastern influences.

 

Stephen still has wings, though, folded against his back. His front paws don't hurt either, not even holding up the considerable weight of his body. He's a little afraid of the implications.

 

He struggles to move his wings, to spread them, and he wants to think it's because he's simply unused to the muscle movement. He wants that to be all.

 

Of course it isn't.

 

His wings are obviously damaged. Heavily scarred and tattered, there are so many gashes torn open in the thin membrane that he doubts they would even slow his descent, should he fall from any height. They don't tremble the way his human hands do. But there is something wrong with them still, aside from the obvious. They don't move quite right. It takes Stephen several tries before he manages to fold them up comfortably once again.

 

He can feel fire climbing up his throat in frustration and he holds it back, snorting smoke. He's not going to set fire to a  _library_. He's not some out-of-control fledgling; he'd  _let_  Wong eviscerate him if that happened. And besides, he half-expected extensive damage to his wings anyway.

 

Curse his timing, that's about when Wong returns. He twitches at the sound of energy shields drawn into existence and twists around with surprising grace as he tries to speak. But of course, dragon tongues are not created for human languages, and Stephen hastily attempts rudimentary telepathy.  _'Wong, it's me.'_

 

Wong freezes for a moment, and then his expression gets stonier. He looks like he wants to hit him even more.

 

"Strange, what have you done?! Change back. Now."

 

The blistering lecture is almost worse than the realization that, whoops, he can't. He hadn't given much thought to the details of returning to human form, just assumed he could. So much time and effort spent in studying the change, undoing it had slipped his mind. In hindsight, he should have realized that any hand-signs would have been virtually impossible, as well as recalling just how much trouble he'd had when first learning magic, given how different it was from dragon magic. 

 

Stephen sulks a bit but adjusts to his new body quickly, overcoming a mild feeling of dysphoria. He might have dragon memories, but he has been physically human all his life. It helps that for all of Wong's dire warnings, Stephen cannot bring himself to believe that he is stuck permanently. No doubt much of it is arrogance, but he feels that he has an advantage over those past examples that serve as warnings. Students who had gotten ahead of themselves and had perished or been trapped forever, either losing their sense of self or going mad.

 

Truth be told, the power of his new-old body, the permanent armor of dragon scales, is reassuring. He feels less exposed. Less vulnerable.

 

That…may contribute to the inability of a group of Masters to change him back. As well as interfering with his own initial attempts.

 

He hadn’t been able to return to his human form, but, much to his surprise, he had discovered that he could change his size. He doesn’t get much bigger, but he can shrink enough to curl comfortably around someone’s neck. Despite his irritation, Wong hadn’t attempted to shrug him off. He had, however, bitched about his claws puncturing his robes and skin on the initial leap from the table. Stephen does feel a little guilty about it, but his surprise that he’d actually correctly gauged the jump and followed through distracted him.

 

With everyone resigned to his new form for the time being, Stephen shifts his attention to other details. He doesn’t know how his nightmares will translate to his dragon-shape, but he doesn’t want to risk accidentally setting his bedroom on fire or destroying the furniture. The search for temporary accommodations is quick and easy. The Sanctum directs him to a door that opens into an empty stone cavern about the size of his office.

 

Stephen spends about a week in there until he’s fairly sure that he’s in control enough not to destroy his bedroom in the midst of a nightmare. The small collection of treasures he sleeps on by that point had been slowly and surreptitiously accumulated from various parts of the Sanctum – including a tapestry that keeps watch on Stonehenge, a rug that can become a trapdoor into a pocket dimension, and a crystal goblet that neutralizes poisons, among other such relics. He shamelessly transfers all of it to his usual bedroom with the Cloak’s assistance and arranges it just so. His usual bed is gone, creating enough space for him to nest comfortably.

 

He ignores Wong’s heavy stare. He’s a dragon. He hoards. He can’t exactly bring actual people into it – truly, why must his Hoard be so troublesome – but the treasures of his den are the next best thing, and he won’t apologize for it. And the look on Wong’s face when he noticed the addition of an orb called the Worldeater to Stephen’s bedroom was definitely amusing.

 

It actually takes Stephen about three weeks to manage the change back to human. He switches back and forth a few times to make sure it isn’t a fluke, and then settles back into dragon-shape. There’s no reason he absolutely has to be human right now, surely. With a few adjustments, his usual routine hasn’t been any trouble. He feels more relaxed (safer) as a dragon. And he still has to practice attacking and using magic in that form, anyway. No use being able to shapeshift if he can’t defend himself. If he can’t live as a dragon just as competently as he has as a human.

 

Or, perhaps, more competently. To be honest, he’s kind of a disaster as a human.

 

Wong figures it out in a little over a month. He looks rather concerned that Stephen prefers to be a dragon, but as long as he trains regularly as a human as well, the librarian lets it be. Stephen can’t afford to be helpless, out of practice, or uncoordinated in either form, after all. And it’s not like a human form is required when traveling to other dimensions.

 

Eventually most of the other Masters also figure out that Stephen isn’t stuck. The ones who don’t, well, they spend very little time in Kamar-Taj so he supposes he can’t be too critical of their ignorance. Regardless, they’re all concerned by his new preferred form.

 

He brushes them all off. It’s fine. He’s fine.

 

By the time Thor and his brother stop by, Stephen has progressed to spending about half his time in his human shape. He considers greeting Thor as a dragon, but considering Norse mythology, passages in ancient texts that mention Asgardians, and several years of news coverage, he’d rather his presence not provoke the impetuous god into an immediate attack. Thor wouldn’t win, of course. Not in his own Sanctum, unless he was extremely lucky and Stephen extremely distracted. Still, the sorcerer would rather avoid the unnecessary stress.

 

The stress – panic, honestly – comes not too long after sending the brothers on their way. Banner crashes through the Sanctum roof and is greeted by a dragon the color of the evening sky. The rich red wings with a strange, almost cloth-like texture are half-flared, and would be more distracting if the man wasn’t traumatized by Thanos and shocked at coming face to face with _a dragon_. Wong and his shields hardly register.

 

Stark almost manages to take Stephen’s existence in stride once he is distracted by the intergalactic threat. Almost. He’s certainly not so intimidated as to stop acting like a douchebag. And neither man can help staring when the Cloak of Levitation twists and unfolds from Stephen’s wings. He isn’t sure whether it’s the Cloak itself, or the scars and ragged tears. Probably both.

 

He folds them away and tries not to feel self-conscious, puzzling briefly over the emotion that flickers in Stark’s eyes. He puts it out of his mind as Wong explains the Infinity Stones, and opens the Eye of Agamotto embedded in the scales of his breast to briefly display the Time Stone.

 

That’s when things really go to shit. He can’t tell whether or not Thanos’ children are surprised by his shape, but they adjust quickly if so. They’re aliens. Bipedal humanoid is probably not the only, or even the most common form in space.

 

The field of battle is to Stephen’s disadvantage. Part of his focus is on minimizing damage, at least to the buildings where people are likely hiding from the carnage. He tries to herd the Maw towards the park and away from civilians with some success. So far as he can tell, it’s the cars and road rather than people that are destroyed. Subduing or defeating his pursuer, however, proves…troublesome.

 

The first attempt to restrain Stephen uses thick cables. His scales protect him from asphyxiation, but he’s not quite strong enough to rip them apart. Not right away. He lets Maw approach and try to rip the Stone from him, only to discover that it is further protected by spells. Even Stephen’s death wouldn’t release them.

 

He exhales dragonfire into Maw’s face. Immediately after, he grows to his maximum size and manages to claw off the restraining cables when they soften thanks to the heat.

 

Unfortunately, Maw isn’t dead. He barely seems inconvenienced, much to Stephen’s frustration. It’s embarrassing to be abducted not long after, and alarming to be separated from his Cloak. Whether or not Thanos or the Black Order expected a dragon, it certainly doesn’t slow them down.

 

The needles aren’t inserted into his soft spots, not at first. Though he cannot ignore the threat as they hover before his eyes and nostrils. First, the microscopic points find their way between what should be impenetrable scales, and however he is bound it does not allow for much thrashing. Stephen hisses and snarls in pain.

 

It’s a shock to be suddenly sucked toward a hole in the side of the ship, too quickly for his mind to catch up. He reacts on instinct to the flash of red in the corner of his eye, shrinking down so that the Cloak can carry him. He’s too slow, or the pull of space is too strong. He barely has the time to register that he’s about to die when something else binds him and pulls tight. Spiderman, he realizes, right before collapsing when the hole in the ship is patched.

 

Stephen returns to his base size as he picks himself up and Stark approaches. He’ll give the superhero this, he isn’t afraid to shout and argue in a dragon’s face.

 

By the time they reach Titan, the Cloak has once more folded and stretched into a membrane covering his wings and he’s decided upon his course of action. He needs to know what comes next. It’s too dangerous to leave the fate of the universe to chance. So while the Guardians and the much-reduced Avengers argue over a plan, Stephen activates the Time Stone and looks through their possible futures.

 

When he comes back to himself, Stark is dangerously close to a twitching, distressed dragon. A hand is pressed to the scales below his eye, and it would have been far too easy to maim him with teeth or fire without meaning to.

 

_Mine_ , his possessive heart snarls as he meets those dark eyes, fear and regret like ice in his veins.

 

Stephen’s gaze touch on each of his companions.

 

_Mine_ , his treacherous instincts whisper.

 

His mind desperately tries to deny all of it as he tells them what their chances are.

 

Everything happens as it should. They’re on the brink of retrieving the gauntlet, and Stephen does nothing to prevent their plan from falling apart. His instincts scream at him to stop this, to save them, and he’s fighting himself almost every step of the way on top of Thanos.

 

Because this is the only way to save them all. They have to lose the battle.

 

Tony has to win the war.

 

The others fall, until Stephen is the only one in Thanos’ way. Finally, he can go all out. Heat causes the air to shimmer, the ground to practically melt into lava. He attempts to rip into the warlord, to rend him apart, but at last Thanos manages to grasp his horns and twist him to the side and to the ground. Like a bull in a rodeo, and he thrashes in rage and fear, trying to bathe him in fire despite the bad angle. He doesn’t feel the Cloak quivering, wanting desperately wrap around his enemy, rip him away, and bash him against the rock and twisted metal. But it stays, as its chosen nearly begged it to. One future in over 14 million. They only have one chance.

 

Stephen screams when a large hand rips the empty Eye from his chest, crushing the ancient metal in disgust at the attempted trickery.

 

Then Tony is there as Stephen struggles to clear his thoughts and move past the pain. Everything happens as he saw it. He clenches his teeth and bites back a growl. Timing is everything.

 

Stephen can’t tell whether he’s terrible at bargaining, or amazing at it. But when it counts, he’s always managed to get what he wants.

 

Thanos leaves with the Time Stone, and Tony’s life is spared. The man certainly won’t thank him for it, and Stephen doesn’t blame him. Especially when he knows what is to come for him.

 

Stephen doesn’t dream of asking for his forgiveness. Knows he doesn’t deserve it. But he tries to give Tony the barest glimmer of hope.

 

There was no other way.


	2. True Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I barely met my goal to get this out before Endgame destroys us all. Good luck!

_“I desired dragons with a profound desire.”  
**-C.S. Lewis, Of Other Worlds: Essays and Stories**_

  

 

Tony groans, shoulders pressed against the solid body behind him as he arches his back.

 

“That’s it,” says a voice so deep it seems to vibrate through him. His cock twitches in his fist, hard and aching, slick with precum. “Show me what brings you pleasure.”

 

Tony does, gasping as his left hand fondles his balls and his right hand pumps, ending with a twist and occasionally swiping his thumb around the head of his erection. The voice murmurs in his ear all the while, a litany of praise and filth that drags him closer to the edge.

 

“Please,” Tony breathes, barely aware of what he’s saying. He’s sprawled naked against the body at his back, untouched anywhere else except by his own hand. But he can feel the attention on him like a physical caress. The heat radiating from his companion combined with his own exertion has him sweating and feeling overheated. “I – I’m going…I – close, S – ”

 

“Not yet,” the voice says darkly, and Tony squeezes the base of his cock as a bolt of arousal shoots through him. “You’re not coming until I say you can.”

 

He tries to suppress a whimper, throwing his head back on a cry of desperate frustration, hips shifting restlessly. His muscles are tensed, struggling to hold back his orgasm. Tony isn’t allowed to cum, but he isn’t allowed to stop touching himself either.

 

“Please,” he begs shamelessly, eyes closed and brow furrowed. “Ple – ”

 

Tony wakes with a gasp, eyes flying open and staring blindly at the dark ceiling of his bedroom as he tries to remember where he is and what’s happening. He’s tangled in his bedsheets, hair damp with sweat, and breathing harshly as though he’s been running for miles.

 

His bedroom. He’s in his bedroom and he’d been sleeping –

 

The dream comes back to him all at once, just as he’s registering how hard he is, the faint, teasing friction of the sheets twisted against his crotch. His hips buck up, and his hand flies down to press the heel of his palm against the obviously tented sheets. Tony’s so close to the edge, he only has to rub a few times before he spends himself, breath catching at the force of it.

 

He sinks into the mattress, exhausted and near boneless, struggling to remember who the other person had been. It’s been so long, he barely remembers the last time he had a sex dream. And really, this one had been so…tame, for how worked up he’d gotten. No actual sex, no glimpse of the other person. Tony had basically been dreaming of masturbating, just with someone watching.

 

The voice had been familiar, though. Tony knows it, it’s on the tip of his tongue, but he can’t quite figure out who it is.

 

He’ll figure it out eventually, he thinks as he slides off his boxers, tossing them to the floor and shifts out of the wet spot, resolving to clean everything in the morning. Or he’ll forget, and maybe skip out on some faint awkwardness on his part.

 

It’s a sex dream. Nothing to get worked up about.

 

 

 

 

In the beginning, Tony had only visited the Sanctum for answers and, after receiving too few of those, a distraction from his memories. Soon enough it becomes comforting, of all things. This place so soaked in magic that even he can feel it brushing against his skin sometimes. And yet, it is a safe haven and retreat from the pressures of the real world, the steel and chrome and glass of the compound, or the tower, or his company. 

 

And then there's the dragon.

 

Too often he finds Strange statue-still, gazing into the distance. It worries him. Because the better he gets to know him, the more he cares, the more he realizes that something is wrong. 

 

Well, of course something is wrong. Half the universe had dissolved into dust, including the dragon sorcerer. Bringing everyone back doesn't somehow mitigate all of the trauma. And Tony doesn't even want to think about what Strange had seen in over 14 million timelines. He has no idea how Strange is still sane. He'll get lost in his head, yes, but he's not a gibbering mess that Tony can see.

 

Assuming, of course, that the measure for sanity in dragons is similar to humans. How would he know? He's friendly with aliens and cyborgs and AIs, all sorts of beings he would never have even dreamed existed before Iron Man and the Avengers. But that hardly makes him an expert on what's normal for other species, or interspecies relationships.

 

Tony has tried waiting for him to come out of it on his own, even wandering off to chat with Wong. When he came back those first couple of times, nearly an hour later, Strange hadn't moved an inch. He'd asked Wong if that was normal, and when the inscrutable man had actually expressed worry, well, Tony's concern had ratcheted up several notches.

 

He tries actively gaining his attention next few times he stumbles across the dragon like this, nudging him, calling his name, or just talking about anything and everything that comes to mind. It works better than waiting, but even then Strange only reacts maybe half the time. And he's rarely so small that Tony can pick him up or move him to snap him back to the present.

 

What it ends up coming down to is Tony, exhausted from refusing to sleep when the nightmares won't stay away, just curling up against Strange's side. He doesn't have the energy for prolonged monologuing. Doesn't think he can do much more than stare blankly into space, but at least he can keep Strange company while they both disassociate. 

 

Despite the hard floor, it's surprisingly comfortable to sit there and let himself go lax. Strange radiates heat like a furnace, and Tony hates feeling cold. For several traumatic reasons. The scales aren't exactly soft, but the give of flesh and muscle beneath helps. At least their edges aren't sharp.

 

He dozes off without meaning to, and when he blearily opens his eyes, it's to see Strange with his head bowed to read a floating, magical tome.

 

“Good evening, Sleeping Beauty.”

 

The deep voice vibrates through Tony, pressed as he is to the dragon's side.

 

“Now there's a nickname I haven't used for you yet,” Tony mumbles as he stretches. “How long have you been aware, Maleficent?”

 

The dragon grumbles at this latest name. “Only about an hour, perhaps.”

 

“You could've woken me, y'know,” Tony responds as he yawns, feeling a little bad for keeping him.

 

“But you were finally quiet.” There's a glint of humor in Strange's iridescent eyes. “I couldn't stand to ruin such a rare blessing.”

 

Tony scowls and kicks at one of his legs. 

 

“That will hurt you more than it will hurt me,” his companion observes, and there's the slightest edge of a purr to his words that Tony has come to associate with the dragon's amusement.

 

“Shut up,” he pouts.

 

But neither of them make any move to separate themselves. 

 

It becomes something of a habit. Tony will end up leaning against Strange, working with a tablet in hand, speaking quietly, or dozing off, feeling warm and safe and protected. Sometimes, Strange will even drape a wing over him, first with the Cloak and then, occasionally, without. And Tony knows without being told just how much Strange has come to trust him, to let himself become so exposed and vulnerable, with his scars and weakness bared within arms' reach. Tempting as it is sometimes, he never reaches out to touch. Respects Strange – _cares_ for him – too much to do so without invitation.

 

More and more often they end up in this position, despite Strange less and less often becoming statue-still and lost in his head.

 

One evening, as Tony rests against the dragon, lingering endlessly on the edge of sleep while the minutes stretch slow and sticky like taffy, Strange murmurs, “You can call me Stephen, you know.”

 

Tony means to respond, honestly, but he searches for a response, for the energy to speak, and the moment passes him by. He lets it go. He hasn't slept in days, tense and unhappy from nightmares, stress, arguing with politicians and fighting with Ross. He's so tired. He just needs to rest here for a moment. 

 

Stra…Stephen – not a name he would associate with dragons, he doesn't think, but what does he know? – must assume he's asleep. He speaks in a murmur, then. Paints images of a world, silent and unspeakably alone. Shrinking slowly, worn away by time, until the atmosphere is stripped away and it is little more than another rock in the vastness of space. Until even that rock is gone, and there is just hanging motionless in space, distant stars the only glimmer of light, and silence beyond anything that can be imagined. Where hibernation is the only defense. Not even a defense, because awareness is so far gone that life or death are meaningless.

 

Tony's heart aches. Anywhere, anyone else, and this would have triggered a panic attack. But this is Stephen, whispering his secrets to him. Does he do this every time Tony is asleep? Or does he know, somehow, that Tony is listening this time, trapped in a body leaden with exhaustion, but still awake enough to hear?

 

 

 

 

The day after his nearly forgotten sex dream, Tony visits the Sanctum bearing plenty of takeout. Ever since he’d first seen the nearly empty kitchen, he’s been worried about how the sorcerers were eating. Especially when he takes into consideration the energy Stephen must burn, not just when casting spells, but also with how often he shifts size.

 

His coordination is extremely impressive, Tony acknowledges on a tangent. He’s never seen the dragon stumble, no matter how he’s moving, or how often he alters his size. But then, if he’s been alive for centuries – millennia, as he’s hinted – he supposes that it would be second nature by now.

 

Stephen might have shown him the mirror dimension, for moving around unnoticed by the average person, but it doesn’t settle Tony’s concerns about their food budget. These days, he tries to bring something to eat whenever he shows up. He’s still not sure whether he’s using the food as an excuse to visit, or vice versa.

 

Tony doesn’t bother to call out anymore when the Sanctum lets him in. Stephen will usually find him right away, or Tony will find Stephen if he’s distracted. If no one’s around, they’ll let him know somehow, and he’ll leave whatever he brought in the kitchen and come back some other time.

 

This time he follows the sound of conversation, too low for him to make out until he’s just outside the study door. The tension – the underlying strain – causes him to hesitate. He hovers out of sight as the almost-argument filters out from behind the closed door.

 

“Some of the Masters are becoming concerned that you're stuck.”

 

“London and Hong Kong have always thought I was. I don't – ”

 

“Other Masters, Strange. As well as most of our students at Kamar-Taj.”

 

“It hardly matters to me what they think. I didn't think you particularly cared either.” Stephen’s tone is dismissive, and Wong sounds even tenser because of it.

 

“It's not their opinions that worry me, it's your well-being.”

 

Silence for a long moment, and then, “I'm fine.”

 

Tony can almost hear Wong's disbelief. He himself has to suppress a snort, not wanting to give away his eavesdropping.

 

“You are not yourself.”

 

“This is myself,” Strange snarls. Tony's heart automatically races in response, instinct reacting to such a dangerous predator, no matter that he knows Strange wouldn't deliberately harm him.

 

“Your full self, then. Your whole self. You're hiding, Strange, whether you'll admit it or not, and if you're not careful you really will be stuck.”

 

Tony sneaks away, then. He probably shouldn't have been listening in the first place, and he has no idea what they were arguing about, but it sounds personal. And it makes him worry even more for Stephen’s well-being. Is this how Pepper felt when he came back after being Iron Man? How she still feels, even if they're no longer together?

 

He unpacks the cartons of food on the kitchen table, his thoughts elsewhere. There’s something familiar, something itching at his memory ever since he’d listened in on Stephen’s conversation. But his curiosity about what they were talking about has his attention split. He’s frustrated and distracted –

 

Tony drops the carton of eggrolls. _Oh, God,_ he thinks almost hysterically as his entire body flashes cold and then hot. Stephen’s voice. He’d gotten off to Stephen’s –

 

The Cloak zips into the kitchen and Tony violently shoves down anything to do with his epiphany, burying it as deep as possible, knowing that Stephen would be right behind his loyal piece of fabric.

 

He turns to greet the dragon, striving for normal. The other’s pause and searching glance says that he wasn’t quite as successful as he’d hoped, but nope, he’s not thinking about it. By the time Tony gets home, he’s so deep in denial that he’s almost forgotten why he feels exhausted and unhappy.

 

He remembers almost immediately, of course. He buries his hands in his hair and yanks with a frustrated growl. It’s just a dream. It means nothing. It’s not like he’s never had dreams about his friends before. So yeah, all of them were human, and okay, this dream was a bit different than those dreams. But it’s just a dream, that’s all. It’s all symbolism; quite a few one-night stands in his younger days had been into new age-y, psychic, dream symbolism stuff. He’d picked some of it up through osmosis and used it quite successfully to pick up more one-night stands. Plenty of people dream of doing things they would never, ever do in real life. None of it is literal (oh God, he’s fairly certain this is literal).

 

Deny, deny, deny.

 

Tony manages to avoid Stephen and the Sanctum for a couple of weeks. His denial lasts a few weeks longer before he collapses in his workshop, screams in frustration as music blasts his eardrums, and gives in.

 

How had this happened? How had he fallen in love? And it had to be love, because he’s never been into bestiality or had a furry kink.

 

That’s prejudiced, isn’t it? Stephen isn’t a beast, not in the way people would automatically assume. He’s just as intelligent as any human. More so, actually. Or should it be that humans are nearly as intelligent as dragons? Maybe dragons consider humans beasts instead. The unconscious presumption that equates shape and species with something lesser. Beloved pet rather than equal.

 

But Tony, who considers few people his equal in intelligence, has come to see Stephen as his equal in all ways. And maybe that’s where the trouble began. Where he slipped and started falling.

 

Where does he go from here? He can’t assume that Stephen would reciprocate. It’s almost certain he doesn’t, in fact. Why would he? Did dragons even have the capability? Did they feel as humans felt?

 

And even if they got so far as a relationship, what would that look like? Tony is surely not sexually appealing to Stephen, in any case. He tries to consider how the mechanics of sexual activity might work, and his mind shies away. He vaguely remembers Stephen having human-shaped clones among his dragon-shaped clones during the fight on Titan when they struggled to restrain Thanos. If Tony asked, would he be willing to take on a human shape?

 

But that would be denying who and what Stephen was, wouldn’t it? That would be saying that Stephen wasn’t enough. That he needed to change. And Stephen was already so damaged, Tony couldn’t do more to hurt him.

 

Sex isn’t an absolute requirement in a romantic relationship, he knows. Tony has had so much sex in his life, more than enough, no strings or feelings attached. He likes sex, but when he seriously considers what a relationship with Stephen might be like, he’s sure can do without it, can work around the lack.

 

Tony gives in and acknowledges that he’s so fucking gone on Stephen, any relationship would be worth it.

 

He just wishes he knew what Stephen felt. If he would consider starting something with him. His feelings for the dragon are so unlikely, it seems impossible that they would be reciprocated. So he keeps putting off talking with him or confessing. Tony does try to test the waters by asking about dragon families and dating, but what Stephen remembers is unhelpful.

 

“I’m not sure,” he says slowly. “Probably proof of being able to provide for your mate? That’s how it is for most beings, isn’t it?

 

“But I’m not anything like a typical dragon anymore,” he murmurs, and doesn’t elaborate on his meaning.

 

Months pass with nothing really resolved, except for Tony’s hard-won acceptance of his own feelings. He spends as much time as he can with Stephen and chickens out of actually saying anything. Wong and the Cloak are definitely on to him, and Tony can basically feel both of them rolling their eyes at him, but he’s just grateful there are no strange or judging looks for the direction of his affections. He supposes interdimensional sorcerers and sentient outerwear have just seen so much weird shit that this isn’t anything outstanding or completely unnatural.

 

He’s finally trying to broach the topic of feelings and relationships when everything gets turned on its head. Well, that’s kind of a lie. He’s trying to figure out how Stephen might react to such a talk, trying to test the waters with unusual subtlety, but not actually commit to anything yet. So he can just brush it off if Stephen reacts unfavorably (it would kill Tony to see disgust in his eyes should a cross-species relationship be unpalatable, and maybe that’s hypocritical because he did not react very well upon first realizing his own feelings, but he can’t help it).

 

Except Tony’s starting to realize that it would take something like a sledgehammer to the head before Stephen even began to suspect anything. And anyway, it’s bad timing. Stephen and Wong have been looking worn-down and tense, more and more often being out or unavailable when he stops by.

 

Of course, then the sorcerer behind all of that captures him and uses him as a hostage to get to Stephen. He manages to get suited up sans helmet right before getting tangled up in magic bands, with either a blade or a noose across his bare throat. God, sometimes he really fucking hates magic.

 

Especially since this sorcerer is so unbelievably stiff and uptight that he gagged Tony within a minute or two of tying him up. He feels uncomfortably violated, and he’s having trouble managing an escape route when he’s limited in communicating with his suit.

 

It doesn’t help that the drama playing out in front of him is hard to watch and harder to look away from. Dragon facial expressions are almost impossible to read, but Stephen’s eyes are broadcasting every emotion he feels, and he’s feeling quite a lot. The verbal jabs between Stephen and this Mordo are pointed and personal. The pain and feelings of betrayal seem to saturate the air between them.

 

Tony tries not to feel jealous of the intimacy, because that’s absolutely ridiculous and he has more important things to focus on.

 

“Return to your true self, Strange! Hiding behind that will do you no good.”

 

“This is my self,” Stephen snarls, obviously fed up with how often he must say it.

 

“I brought you in to Kamar-Taj; you think such obvious lies will sway me? I know better than to believe that you are stuck in that form.”

 

“That doesn’t make this any less true, Karl. You’re so desperate for what you perceive as my vulnerability. You don’t trust your strength against a dragon, so you’ll coerce me with an innocent hostage. Just to continue your zealotry?”

 

Mordo flinches, that last comment appearing to have struck a nerve. “Innocent,” he repeats in disbelief. “You believe this man is – ”

 

“Innocent, insofar as your self-appointed mission goes. Unless you somehow think that Tony Stark has taken up magic?”

 

“Perhaps not. But the natural laws must be protected and upheld. And if there are unavoidable casualties along the way, then so be it.”

 

Stephen roars in fury. “Unavoidable – ”

 

“Still a spineless coward even after taking on that shape. You’re a disgrace, Strange. Change! Change back, or his blood is on your hands.”

 

Tony’s hands clench into fists, confused about why everyone is so concerned with Stephen’s form, and angry that he’s being used to coerce Stephen. The nanobots of his suit are moving sluggishly, too slow for him to bust out until the dragon gives him some sort of signal and a better distraction.

 

And then he’s not thinking of anything at all, because Stephen is twisting, shrinking, and then suddenly there’s a man standing before them. A familiar man he’d only seen a glimpse of on Titan. A gorgeous man, tall and slender, clothed in blue robes with a bright red Cloak on his shoulders. A man with a striking goatee, distinguished silver-streaked hair, and piercing eyes a familiar blue-green-gray. His mind goes blank, little clues snapping together all at once.

 

Human. He’s human. Tony is going to fucking kill him, and then bring him back, just to kill him again for the confusion and panic he’d put him through. Fuck, was it all a lie? No. No, every word about the slow death of his world, the blurring of his memories was true, Tony knows it. So he’s…what. An immortal human? Who can change into a dragon? What?

 

He tunes back in just in time to hear Stephen say, “Who made you judge, jury, and executioner? Yes, perhaps the bill always comes due. It’ll happen as it must without your interference. You’re not some divinely chosen debt collector. That’s not natural balance, that’s your own biased interpretation of it!”

 

Unfortunately, Tony’s mind can’t quite focus on what’s playing out in front of him, too distracted by his thoughts. “But Thanos used Soul and Power to slam you back into your body! Dragon body!” he blurts, realizing the main reason why he’d never questioned Stephen’s species. And then realizing that Mordo had been distracted enough to forget about maintaining the gag.

 

The jarring dissonance of his big mouth is enough to make both sorcerers pause, and Tony takes advantage, using his nanobots to create a spike aimed at Mordo’s hand instead of trying to parry the blade of magic itself, and then twisting his hand so that he can blast the man’s very solid mass with a repulsor.

 

Then it’s a desperate two on one scramble as Tony tries to avoid fucking magic attacks, and Stephen struggles to keep Mordo from stealing his magic.

 

They’re panting and bleeding by the time they manage to subdue the sorcerer and knock him unconscious. The moment Mordo has been portalled away, Tony rounds on Stephen and suppresses a scream of frustration.

 

“I’m going to kill you,” Tony bellows. His suit has retreated back into its housing, and he winds his hands into the front of Stephen’s robes and shakes him, gently, not sure that the scars and damage from his wings were limited to just his hands.

 

Stephen’s hands come up to cover his, and Tony can feel an intermittent tremor. He drinks in sharp cheekbones and narrow eyes, memorizing the way a stray lock of hair falls over his forehead. He’s noticeably taller, the utter bastard, and the bewildered, innocent look on his face does not absolve him.

 

“Tony…what…?”

 

“You couldn’t have mentioned that you were human, too?!” He’s let go of Stephen in order to flail his arms, and he knows it looks ridiculous, but he can’t stop himself.

 

“Of course I – ” Stephen snaps automatically, and then pauses, actually giving it some thought. “I…hm. I must have. Did I really not…?”

 

“I definitely would have remembered that,” Tony says through gritted teeth. He really wants to keep shouting, and it would be perfectly justified, but he needs to calm down before he says or does something he regrets.

 

“I guess you were never around when I shifted back,” Stephen thinks aloud.

 

“ _Obviously_.”

 

“But surely talking about my career as a neurosurgeon would have tipped you off.”

 

Tony counts to ten slowly, trying to calm down.

 

“Except…I…don’t really talk about it anymore. And I’ve given up on having people refer to me as Doctor while I’m a dragon.”

 

“Neurosurgery?”

 

“Until my car accident,” he says, holding up his scarred, shaking hands with a bitter twist to his lips.

 

“And all that talk about being the last dragon…?”

 

“Ah.” Stephen looks something close to small and vulnerable. Tony hadn’t meant it as an accusation, hadn’t thought it a lie, but the other man had obviously taken it as such. “That’s…reincarnation, of a sort. I was given a chance to be reborn mortal, this time around.”

 

Tony sighs, exhaustion dragging at his edges, and adding to the cocktail mixture of adrenaline, frustration, relief, and attraction that surges through his veins. It’s a potent combination that fuels a false courage. “Fuck it,” he mutters, and dives forward, dragging Stephen into a violent kiss. A stray thought flits through his mind, that he’s glad that this probably means he’s less likely to have to give up sex.

 

Stephen stiffens in surprise, and then submits to him with a surprising ease. Tony devours him; they’re pressed together, chest to thigh, and the kiss is all teeth and tongue.

 

It gentles eventually, reaching a softer natural end. Tony pants, lips resting on Stephen’s racing pulse point, is erection pressed against Stephen’s thigh, feeling Stephen’s hardness against his abs.

 

“You,” Stephen murmurs, still rather breathless. “You really…When I was a dragon? When you thought that was all I was?”

 

Tony had thought he was beyond blushing by now. “Shut up,” he mutters into Stephen’s throat, refusing to look up.

 

“Tony.”

 

The sheer emotion, the confusing clash of feeling packed into his name, has him meeting Stephen’s multihued eyes. His breath catches in his throat at what he sees there.

 

Stephen looks at him like he’s everything.

 

Tony kisses him again before he can say anything else.


End file.
